


A Better Night Than Most

by Wagnetic



Category: due South
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-07
Updated: 2014-01-07
Packaged: 2018-01-07 22:26:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,886
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1125122
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wagnetic/pseuds/Wagnetic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Ray pines over Fraser and they follow a criminal to a gay club.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Better Night Than Most

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Seascribe's American Frottage Day challenge.

Nighttime sucks. Mornings aren’t great, but they’re not too bad. Before Ray’s had his coffee, there’s a lot of grumbling and staggering around like a zombie, and after coffee it’s just the same old morning routine. He showers, gels his hair, finds something mostly clean to wear. It’s easy. Work is great, unless he gets stuck with paperwork, but Fraser normally takes over that part of the job anyway. He does the whole “official composition” thing a hell of a lot better than Ray ever could. When they’re not in the bullpen, they’re out getting into all kinds of crazy danger that really should get them killed but somehow ends with them saving the day. Their duet has been working even better since their adventure in the Northwest Areas. Him and Fraser, they’re a fine-tuned machine. As it turns out, living out of a tent and a dogsled in the middle of hypothermic nowhere really forces you to listen to each other, and they’re still doing it in Chicago even though there’s no immediate danger of death by popsicle-ization. So days are fine, days are greatness, and afternoons too, because they spend them at Ray’s apartment or at Fraser’s (and thank fuck he finally moved out of his tiny office and got a real place to live) and they have dinner and watch hockey and Ray feeds Dief junk food even though it makes Fraser grumpy. And all of that’s good, really good, but it doesn’t make the nights any easier.

Nights always end up the same, with Ray alone in his apartment, which suddenly feels way too empty, and Ray feeling kind of empty too, like there’s a big chunk of him that’s missing. His apartment is too quiet since he came back from Canada, and that doesn’t make any sense since there were no cars passing by in the middle of the wilderness and there definitely weren’t any people yelling at each other right outside their tent, but still… It just feels wrong. Ray goes through his nighttime routine the same way he goes through his morning one, except that he’s always completely awake no matter how tiring his day has been, and somehow that makes the whole thing feel kind of sad. Then the sad feeling only gets worse once he’s lying in bed, staring at the ugly ceiling with the water stain in one corner. At first he tried to ignore the urge to mope, but it never worked and so now he just gives in and thinks about all the things he wants. It was a little like this after the divorce, except that with Stella, Ray had actual memories to draw from, but with Fraser all he has are fantasies.

Really, he ought to just be glad that Fraser’s here at all. When Ray climbed out of thirty feet of snow and saw Fraser’s face out there in the middle of that ice field, he was sure their partnership was done for. He thought Fraser would stay up there in the middle of nowhere and he’d have to come back to Chicago alone. With Vecchio back in town, Ray would be back at his old precinct with his old shitty life and he’d be right back at square one. It’d be just like the last two years had never happened. He still doesn’t know what made Fraser decide to come back, but when he’d bought his ticket, Fraser had booked one too, and that had been that. There have been plenty of times when Ray wanted to ask, but he’s never actually done it. It feels like bad luck somehow—like if he were to bring it up, Fraser would realize what a mistake he made coming back to the ugly, crowded city. The thing is, Ray’s more than a little greedy when it comes to Fraser. No matter how happy he is that Fraser’s still here in Chicago, he can’t help imagining what it would be like to have him even closer. Ray wants him as close as possible.

In Ray’s mind, Fraser curls up in the bed with him and puts his mouth _everywhere_ or he pins Ray down and rocks into him, strong and desperate. Sometimes Ray imagines that Fraser, control freak that he is, would even let Ray lead. Why not? It’s Ray’s fantasy, and it’s not like any of it’s going to happen in real life, so why not take it that one step further? Ray pictures Fraser with half-lidded eyes and half-open lips, breath hitching as Ray nips at the patch of skin just under his jaw, and kisses the pulse-point at the base of his throat, and touches every inch of him. They’re good fantasies, but once he’s gotten off and he rolls over to burry his face into his pillow, he finds that he still wants more. He wants to come home from a run to the grocery store and find Fraser sitting on the couch with a book in his hands. He wants to kiss Fraser good morning, and to make him chocolate chip pancakes just because he’s sure that Fraser never had them as a kid and no one should go their whole life without eating chocolate chip pancakes. He wants to rub Fraser’s shoulders after a long day and wash his hair in the shower. If it was just a sex thing it might not be so bad, but what Ray really wants is the whole deal, and he wants it with _Fraser_ and he knows that isn’t going to happen. And that just really sucks.

But then there’s the case with Dan Marelli, a low-level dealer who they think might be part of some bigger operation, and somehow they end up following the guy to a gay club. Ray’s sure that seeing Fraser in that setting is going to kill him for sure, and man, it really does. The club’s all full of flashing lights and shitty music, but all Ray can see is Fraser, leaning against the wall with a beer in his hand (an actual beer with actual alcohol, and since when does Fraser drink?) and looking just like he belongs there. He’s probably keeping an eye on Marelli, but he seems like he’s scanning the dance floor to see if there’s someone he’d like to take home and it makes Ray’s hands itch. He wants to grab Fraser and make sure everyone knows that Fraser’s his. He wants to stake his claim, which is D-U-M dumb because he doesn’t have a claim to stake, but his instincts seem to have missed the memo on that one.

“I didn't think you'd be so calm about this whole thing,” he says. Better to make small-talk than moon over the Mountie. “I thought you were allergic to drinking and flirting and stuff.”

“You’d be surprised,” Fraser says, and he looks downright cocky. That’s an actual smirk on his face, though anyone who didn’t know Fraser would think it was just a polite smile. “I have some experience with less traditional clubs in Chicago, actually. Remind me to tell you about the time I was charged with escorting the ambassador’s daughter. It was a fascinating experience.”

“Yeah, I’ll bet,” Ray mumbles, and he glares at the bear in biker gear who’s eyeing Fraser from across the room. Back off, buddy, or I’ll kick you in the head.

“Oh dear,” Fraser says, and Ray snaps back to cop-mode. “Oh dear” is the sign of oncoming disaster. “Oh dear” is what Fraser says when he realizes there’s a blizzard on the way and they’re miles away from anywhere.

“What? What’s going on?”

“He’s heading right for us,” Fraser whispers. “I believe we may have been spotted.”

“Oh dear” is right. Marelli’s getting closer and closer and if they don’t do something now it’s going to ruin the whole operation. Ray does the first thing he can think of: he steps in front of Fraser, puts his hands against the wall on either side of his head, and kisses him on the lips. Stupid, stupid, stupid, but it’s too late now, and Ray’s never going to get another chance, and he wants this so badly. Fraser’s mouth is open, probably in shock, and it’s a bad thing to do but Ray takes the excuse to deepen the kiss. He slides his right hand down to cup the nape of Fraser’s neck, brushing his fingers through the short, soft hair. And before he knows it, he’s stepping in closer and clinging to Fraser, and his thigh is between Fraser’s legs, and Fraser is kissing him back.

Fraser is _kissing him back_. Oh God, either Fraser is really determined to fool Marelli or he actually wants Ray, and the idea that Fraser might actually want him sends Ray’s body into motion. He’s rocking against Fraser now, desperately trying not to moan because it feels so damn good. He’s moving the hand that isn’t holding Fraser’s head down to wrap around Fraser’s waist and press him closer.

Fraser pulls back, and his face is pale and that’s when Ray realizes what he’s done. He lets go, springs back.

“Shit, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I wasn’t thinking. I didn’t mean to…”

Fraser’s just staring at him. “Why did you do that, Ray?”

He might as well come clean now. He’s already fucked everything up, so there’s nothing left to lose. “I wanted to.” He can’t meet Fraser’s eyes and he shoves his hands in his jacket pockets so he can’t reach out and touch.

“Why?” Fraser asks again. Does he have to ask? Can’t he spare Ray from having to say this? But it’s Ray’s own fault and he should never have grabbed Fraser like that without his consent, so really this is the least he can do to make up for it.

“We needed to keep Marelli from figuring out that we were watching him, but I mean, it’s not just that. I’m, um, it’s just...” It’s so hard to say, but he’s got to say it now. “I love you. I know how stupid it sounds, but I’m in love with you.” And now that he’s said it, he can’t stop. “I want to go to bed with you and wake up with you and wash your hair—” It’s too soon. It’s way too soon and if Fraser was freaked out before, Ray can only imagine how he feels now.

"Thank God,” Fraser says, and his voice is soft and sweet, and he must have stepped closer because Ray can feel his breath on his skin. Fraser’s arms slip around him, holding him tight, and all Ray can do is cling and gasp and burry his head in Fraser’s shoulder.

“Do you really want this? Are you sure?”

Fraser lets out a breathy laugh and says, “You have no idea, Ray,” and he grabs Ray’s hand and guides him out of the club. “Come home with me,” he says.

And Ray is a complete moron, so he opens his mouth to say “yes” and what comes out is, “I want to make you chocolate chip pancakes.”

Fraser just grins at him and says, “You can do anything you like with me, but I believe we have some unfinished business to attend to first.”


End file.
